Maybe you deserve a good beating. Maybe then you’ll fall in line and hold your tongue.

The new green
often brings
unexpected pains.
My dear mother – the jewels in her eyes
never matched the ice in her heart.

“Keep me alive,” she begged.
But all us kids could do
was play croquet
while the sun melted
the soft statues around us.

   We were made to witness a natural violence.
   We were made to act violent ourselves.

Our bodies hold us
in submission
like a prison.
We witness these deaths
at the hands
of armed civilians
and we grow
ashamed of our bodies
like Adam,
like Eve.

We will fight this fight.
We will fight this same fight.
We will kill all of these men
when this doesn’t stop.
We will kill all of these men
to save our sons,
to save our songs.

I remember the words of my mother,
in the hospital
just before
I was born:

“It’s not too late, is it?
Even if they stop shooting?
If they kill a man
maybe they will stop killing us, amen.”

When I think about my mother,
the new green, our bodies,
the melting sun,
I have a hard time believing
that she missed the danger
in those bent and broken men.
It was her own words,
in her own words,
that were her last words:

“They just don’t stop.”

Maybe you deserve a good beating. Maybe then you’ll fall in line and hold your tongue.

The Name of the Young Blood You Have Brought to Me

Your skin
Against my skin
The anticipation
The heat
The forbidden
The end
At the beginning
What is over
May start over
Turning over
The heat
The heat

The predictor

The promise predicator
The promise predicator

Why don’t you say that you’re a predatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredatorpredator?


The Name of the Young Blood You Have Brought to Me

The Emptiness of Space

She is the storyteller
And she is the truth
She is the heart
And she is the backbone
She is the web’s shadow
And the grass-hymn wind

She is the truth
And she is the grass
She is the webbed tree

When I think
of how I am feeling right now,
I’m filled with sadness and fear

Now, don’t listen to my woes
if you believe in God,

Don’t believe in your sins
if you believe in God,

Don’t believe in anything
if you believe in a Lord

There’s something to be said
for a little Godliness
in all things that people do,
and that they do not do
by their own choice

Where I come from
we have lots of enemies

Where I come from,
there’s only one God

She is the truth
And she is the grass
And she is the web
And she is the shadow
And she is the story

The Emptiness of Space